


The Savior of the Wizarding World

by Zephyrfox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Gen, Making Plans, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, The children have plans of their own
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:21:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephyrfox/pseuds/Zephyrfox
Summary: Sirius Black didn't go after Peter Pettigrew that fateful night at Godric's Hollow, and Albus Dumbledore had to adjust his plans. Now two eleven-year-old boys are getting ready to attend Hogwarts, and Dumbledore needs one of them to stand out. To be his Chosen One, and to ensure Voldemort's downfall.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

Neville Longbottom woke that morning, one week away from his eleventh birthday, knowing that he was still a failure and a disappointment, and the next best thing to a squib. He still hadn’t gotten his Hogwarts letter, a fact that Grandmother and Uncle Algie had been harping about for months. Aunt Enid, at least, always mentioned that Algie had forced magic out of Neville at least once. Neville shuddered, remembering his terror at being dangled out the window by his ankles. He had been positive he was about to die. Then Uncle Algie had let go… Neville still didn’t clearly remember what happened after that, except flashes of his Grandmother and his great uncle picking him up off the ground outside, celebrating something. He remembered spending the next week in bed, too afraid of falling to the floor if he got up. He still didn’t care for heights, and _never_ looked out of a window.

Fortunately, Grandmother and Aunt Enid had put a stop to Uncle Algie trying to kill him after that. The problem was, Neville had never had another burst of accidental magic. He worried that he’d used up all his magic in one go.

He rolled onto his back and pulled his duvet up to his chin. He wasn’t cold, exactly, but… it felt more comforting. What should he do today? He snorted lightly to himself. He would do what he’d been doing the last few months. Either spend the day in the garden or in the library reading about plants. Avoiding Grandmother, mostly. His great uncle and great aunt would be arriving later that afternoon to spend the week before his birthday “celebration.” Neville wasn’t looking forward to another birthday where his relatives coldly listed all of his faults and compared his failures to his father’s accomplishments.

If he didn’t get his Hogwarts letter soon... 

* * *

That same morning, Albus Dumbledore sipped his tea at his desk in the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. Letters had been going out all summer to the children who would be attending that year. Two of those children — each the child of prophecy — he’d be paying extra attention to when they arrived. What kind of children were they, young Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom? Which would be the one to mold to his purpose?

Potter would have been his automatic choice, save that the boy had slipped from his grasp the night Tom had been… disembodied. Not dead, no. Tom Riddle, Voldemort, had secret ways to stay alive — ways that would bring him back to Hogwarts that very year. No, Potter would be difficult. After his parents’ deaths, Albus would have isolated the boy in the muggle world, and brought him back to wizardkind grateful for the opportunity. Instead, that damnable Black had interfered with his plans. The lad should have gone after the traitor, leaving young Potter behind. And instead of Albus having a hero he could hold up as an example to the wizarding world, he had an average boy, the son of heroes, raised as just another wizard, with childhood friends and Black as his loving parent.

Longbottom, his second choice… also all but orphaned in a Deatheater attack. Albus knew very little about the boy. Augusta Longbottom had kept her son all but isolated… Hmmm… He considered that point. If he could keep Neville isolated at Hogwarts, control who the boy’s friends were…

Yes… that might just work.

He pulled a piece of parchment towards him and summoned a self-inking quill. Whistling tunelessly, Albus Dumbledore began to write a letter to one of his staunchest allies.

* * *

Harry Potter bounced out of bed. It was summer, and he had the whole day to run and play. Maybe he should invite some of his friends over, but he’d be seeing them at his birthday party in a week, anyway. Then again, most of them had gotten their Hogwarts letter already, and he should be getting his own letter soon. He could ask Sirius if they could get together and all go to Diagon Alley at the same time to get school supplies.

But he could make plans later. For now, he was hungry. He pulled a robe off the floor. The rest of his clothes were hanging neatly in his wardrobe. “Only a few wrinkles,” he smirked, pulling it on. Perfectly fine for playing in. 

He left his room, heading down to the kitchen. He could already smell something appetizing. He sped up. That meant Uncle Moony was there. That’s when Sirius went all out preparing food. He always said Moony was too skinny. Harry agreed. Plus, there was plenty of food for him, too.

“Good morning, Sirius, Uncle Moony,” Harry chirped, bursting into the kitchen and throwing himself into his usual chair. As expected, there was plenty of good, hot food waiting. He pulled a plate toward him and scooped up a couple pancakes and a rasher of bacon. He eyed the rest of the spread. Just to start with, of course.

“Good morning, Harry,” Moony said, a smile lighting his face. “Are you sure you have enough food there?”

Sirius got up, chuckling. “Growing boys need food, and the pup is growing like a weed.”

Harry paused with his fork halfway to his mouth and stuck out his tongue at Sirius. To Uncle Moony, he said, “I need the energy!”

“I’m sure you do, Harry,” Moony said with a fond smile, and leaned back in his chair, holding a steaming mug that smelled of rich coffee.

“What are your plans for the day, pup?” Sirius asked, tousling Harry’s hair on his way to the counter and the coffee pot resting there.

Harry hastily chewed and swallowed his mouthful of pancake. “Could I ask a couple friends over?”

“I don’t see why not. Who did you want to ask —” 

An owl interrupted Sirius, flying in through the open window and landing gracefully in front of Harry — in an inadvertent cleared spot next to the rolls.

Cream envelope, red seal — “My Hogwarts letter,” Harry yelled, excitement bursting through him. He took the letter from the owl, barely remembered to thank it, and tore the envelope open. He already knew what it would say, but he read the famous words eagerly. Uncle Moony reached over and snagged the book list while Sirius came to read over Harry’s shoulder.

The owl, deciding that no one was paying it any attention, nicked a piece of bacon while the three read.

* * *

Neville wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of one wrist, smearing dirt across his forehead. It was a hot summer day, but the earth under his fingers was cool and moist. He enjoyed the mindlessness of weeding the plant beds. It was almost meditative. Maybe, if he really was a squib, Grandmother would let him become a gardener. Or he could go to a muggle school, and learn about muggle plants. Not as good as magical plants, of course, but… there, at least, him not having magic wouldn’t be an impediment. He could… he could even have a career! 

He frowned at that thought. What kind of careers did muggle gardeners have, anyway? Neville shrugged to himself and moved to the next section of garden. He was sure there were ways to find out.

A flicker at the edge of his vision caught his attention. The shadow of a bird flying high overhead. Neville looked up. A mail owl? But hadn’t the mail arrived earlier? The owl circled, as if looking for something — or some _one._

Not him, of course. He never got mail. Who would send _him_ a letter? Above him, the owl stopped circling and turned on its wing, swooping lower and lower. And then, to Neville’s astonishment — it landed in front of him.

Neville’s eyes locked on the envelope the owl carried. The rich, heavy cream paper and the bright red wax seal told him it was a Hogwarts letter. “For… for _me?”_ he asked in disbelief. The owl hooted, seeming impatient. Neville took the letter, reverence in his every movement. Once he held the letter in his hands, he scarcely noticed the owl flying off again.

A Hogwarts letter. _His_ Hogwarts letter!!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the last train to Clarksville... Wait, no, it's the train to Hogwarts! Neville boards the train and meets a red-haired boy and a curly-haired girl.

Neville woke slowly the morning of September 1st. He drowsed for a bit, aware that there was something he should be doing — something he should remember. He’d had a late night of it, unable to sleep because of excitement and apprehension. What…? Oh! He sat bolt upright in bed. Hogwarts! He’d be leaving home for the first time today!

He slid out of bed — carefully, he didn’t want to fall — and grabbed his uniform and robe from where Grandmother had laid everything out the night before. He’d tried them on a few days before, to make sure they fit. Thankfully, they had. They’d been his father’s school clothes. In fact, all of his school supplies had been his father’s, from his wand to his books, including the trunk Neville had packed with care the night before — under Grandmother’s watchful eye. 

When he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter he’d thought he would get the chance to go to Diagon Alley to get his school supplies and his wand. Instead, Grandmother had led him to the room his father had used as a boy. Grandmother had all his father’s things from school packed away in there, divided by year. 

“Neville, are you dillydallying?” Grandmother’s voice came from the clock on the bedroom wall. She’d enchanted it to speak certain phrases when he’d been much younger, to function as his alarm clock. “Get dressed and come downstairs.”

“Yes, Gran,” Neville replied automatically. His fingers flew as he checked all his buttons were done up properly and his tie was straight. He stepped in front of his mirror for a visual check. Yes, everything in order. He gave a sigh of relief before heading for his door. Now all he had to do was manage not to trip on his way down to breakfast. Or spill anything over his father’s uniform. His reflection paled in the mirror as he imagined his Gran’s reaction to that… 

_ “Neville!” _

With a startled cry, Neville spun on his heel and dashed out of his room. He was late!

* * *

Breakfast, naturally, had been an uncomfortable affair, but it was mercifully over. Now Neville stood beside his grandmother on the platform beside the train. All around him, other families were saying their tearful goodbyes, while schoolfriends greeted each other joyously. Over all the tumult the cries of various animal friends and familiars added to the chaos. 

A family — several families? — of redheads swarmed towards the train. There must have been a dozen or so. Most of them were Hogwarts age, hovering around the one adult. A group of cousins, maybe, all heading to the train together, no doubt. Another couple, he thought they might even be Muggles, stood with their daughter, who nearly vibrated with excitement. Neville smiled. He knew how she felt!

He watched enviously as a pair of boys about his age sprinted towards each other. One boy call the other scarhead, who scoffed and called the first boy blondie. They were obviously friends, however, as they laughed and hugged each other. Neville wondered if he would be in their house at Hogwarts. Probably not, he decided. He was sure to get stuck in Hufflepuff. They were bound to be in one of the other houses, maybe even Gryffindor.

“Are you paying attention to me, Neville?” Grandmother snapped.

“Yes, Gran.” He turned his eyes to her. Trevor tried, once more, to hop out of his hands.  _ Damn toad,  _ he thought resentfully. 

As if she’d overheard his thought, Grandmother’s lips tightened. She said nothing about his toad, however, and simply handed him his father’s wand and said, “You make sure that you’re worthy of that wand.” 

Trevor shifted Trevor into the crook of his arm, bending enough that the toad was trapped, and took the wand. “Yes, Gran.”

* * *

Finally dismissed from his grandmother’s presence, Neville tapped his father’s trunk with his father’s wand as he’d been taught. The wand felt almost…  _ reluctant,  _ but the charm on the trunk activated nevertheless. It floated up to about waist height and followed obediently as he led the way to the train. He fell into the queue with other children boarding, and ended up getting jostled back, until he found himself next to the Muggleborn girl he’d seen earlier. He chanced a small smile at her, and to his surprise, she grinned back. 

“Hello! I’m so excited to be here. Are you excited?” She asked immediately. “My name is Hermione Granger. What’s yours? Did you enchant that trunk? I’ve got a featherweight charm on mine, it came with, you know, but I still have to pull it.” She cocked her head expectantly when she ran out of breath, her hair floating like a cloud of brown curls before they settled in obedience to gravity.

Feeling a bit overwhelmed, Neville stammered, “I-it’s my dad’s trunk, from when he was at Hogwarts. I don’t know when it was enchanted. Erm… Neville. My name is, I mean. Neville Longbottom.”

Hermione’s grin, if possible, got even wider. “I’m glad to meet you, Neville.” Her head craned towards the train, then she turned back to him, her eyes dancing. “Would you like to share a compartment on the train, if there’s room?”

“There’s always room on the Hogwarts express,” Neville said without thinking. “It expands, you know.”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “Wicked!”

Neville frowned. “Why is that wicked?”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean that in the negative sense,” Hermione rushed to say, alarm filling her eyes. “It’s just, well, slang, I suppose. It means really cool.”

“Right,” Neville nodded, still a bit uncertain. He thought she meant it was good? He decided to ignore it all for now and gave a little shrug. He still needed to answer her earlier question, right? “Yes, I’d like to share a compartment. It’s nice to have a friend.”

“Friends? Me?” Hermione’s eyes went wide again. “Yes! That... that’s good. Yes. I'd like that!”

Neville smiled at her babbling excitement and forbore to mention they’d need a chaperone. Surely someone else would want to sit with the two of them?

* * *

Neville levered his trunk up onto the luggage rack, then pulled Hermione’s up as she pushed. It was definitely a two person job. Getting the trunks down might be a bit tricky, too. Odd that there weren’t any upper years that were interested in helping the first years. Or any of the teachers, helping to get things sorted out. It was like being back home with his grandmother. As long as Neville did what he was supposed to, and was where he was supposed to be, she paid him no mind.

He sat down on the seat facing Hermione, lost in thought. Fortunately, Hermione had already pulled a book out of her bag —  _ Hogwarts, a History,  _ she had announced — and had settled down to read. 

The train started moving with a slight jerk and slowly pulled out of the station. Neville didn’t bother looking out the window. His grandmother would be long gone back to the manor. Hermione had already said her goodbyes to her parents. They were teeth healers, apparently, although she had called them  _ dentists.  _

He had a firm grip on Trevor. The toad kept trying to escape out the open compartment door. Hermione had suggested closing it, but had left it open, confused, after Neville’s stammered confession that they needed a chaperone if it was closed. A long line of students had tramped by, looking in curiously as they passed. None of them had stopped long enough for Neville or Hermione to invite them in. Now that the train was moving, he supposed all the other students had gotten seats.

“Hey, erm... D’you mind if I sit with you?” A red haired boy stood by the door, a sheepish expression on his face. “My brothers are being… difficult.”

Hermione looked up with a welcoming smile before her face fell when she noticed the boy was focused on Neville instead. 

Neville wished he could explain that he’d rather the boy talked to both of them. At least with another boy around they would stay within the bounds of propriety. “Please, come in. This is my friend Hermione, and I’m Neville.”

“Thanks, mate,” the boy said, relieved, and hauled his trunk into the compartment, letting the door slide shut. He set it on its end by the window and sat next to Neville. “I’m Ron. Ron Weasley. This is my rat, Scabbers.” Ron took an old rat that had clearly seen better days out of his pocket and shoved it in Neville’s face.

Neville leaned away from it and shot an awkward glance at Hermione. “Erm, nice rat?” 

Hermione frowned at them both, seeming a bit hurt that Ron still ignored her. “It looks ill. And you’ve got a bit of dirt on your nose. Just there.”

Ron just pouted and pulled the rat away. “Don’t listen to her, Scabbers. You’re fine.” But he put the rat back into his pocket, and attempted to surreptitiously wipe his nose with his sleeve.

Hermione scoffed and went back to her book.

Neville sighed. It looked like this was going to be a long trip.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hogwarts Express! The Sorting Feast! A time for meeting people and making new friends. At least, Neville hoped he was making new friends.

“That’s, erm, that’s an interesting rule, isn’t it? Don’t you think it’s interesting, Hermione?” Neville felt a bit desperate as he appealed to his new friend in an effort to draw her out. Ron’s near incessant chatter about quidditch meant that she hadn’t been able to get a word in about, well,  _ anything,  _ even if she’d wanted to contribute to the conversation. Neville had begun to long for the awkward silence from the beginning of the ride.

Hermione looked over the top of the book she was holding like a shield between her and the two boys. She sniffed. “I’m afraid I don’t play sports.”

“Oh, I don’t either,” Neville said, nearly collapsing in relief at having found common ground. He ignored Ron’s open-mouthed gaping at the two of them. “I’m far too clumsy.”

Hermione lowered her book a few inches to share a commiserating look with him. “Sports take up entirely too much time. I prefer reading.”

“Gardening, me,” Neville said. 

“Oi,” Ron tried to interrupt. “Quidditch, remember?”

“How interesting! Do you know magical plants, then?” Hermione actually closed her book and leaned forward. “They’re different than they are in the mundane world, right?”

Neville almost frowned at the unfamiliar reference — mundane rather than muggle — but he shrugged it off as not important. Certainly not as important as discussing  _ plants.  _ “Yes! There are many, erm, mundane plants that have magical varieties. That’s quite important to know if you’re brewing potions. Many of them depend upon which variety of plant you’re using.”

“You mean, you can use mundane or magical depending on the potion?” Hermione sounded fascinated.

Ron scoffed, sounding like he was strangling with outrage. “Plants? We could be talking about the Chudley Cannons!”

“We’ve talked about them quite enough, I think, Ron. Hermione and I would like to talk about plants for now.” Neville kept his tone even, although he wanted to snap at the self-centered boy. Hadn’t Ron’s mother taught him any manners? He stared, dismayed, at Ron’s reaction — the other boy threw himself back against the seat in a huff, arms folded over his chest and his lower lip sticking out in a pout. Neville shook his head.  _ Apparently not. _

Fortunately the compartment door slid open before the conversation could devolve into further disagreement. A harried-looking woman stuck her head in. “Anything from the trolley?”

“Oh, no,” Neville groaned as Trevor, once again, made a hop for it. He managed to grasp one of the toad’s hind legs, only to lose his grip when the struggling toad kicked him in the face. Neville fell back clutching his eye. “Catch him!”

Hermione made an admirable lunge for the escaping toad. “I’ve got him!”

“No, I’ve got him!” Ron shot up and bumped into Hermione — accidentally, surely — knocking Trevor out of her hands and sending her sprawling to the floor of the compartment in heap.

“Trevor!” Neville wailed in despair, seeing a howler from his grandmother in his future as the toad hopped to the top of the trolley, scattering wrapped candies to the floor. The toad sat there with a smug air, then leapt off, disappearing down the corridor.

“Get  _ off  _ me, Ron!” Hermione snapped from the floor, shoving at the boy.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Hermione, I just got excited!” Ron exclaimed, extending his hand to her with an abashed look.

Neville watched the two anxiously, fighting an internal battle with himself — stay and make sure his friends were all right, or go after Trevor? 

Fortunately, the trolley lady took charge. “An escape artist, is it? Don’t you worry, me love, I’ll take care of it. First, get the young lady to her seat, and let me see your eye.”

Neville pulled his hand away from his now-swollen eye and reached down to help Hermione to her feet. Ron had retreated back to his seat, scowling, since she had rejected his offered hand. 

“Thank you, Neville,” Hermione said, pointedly ignoring Ron. She peered at his eye in concern, and reached up as if to touch it, but she pulled her hand back as Neville flinched away. “Oh, your poor eye! How does it feel?”

“A bit sore,” he admitted, looking down. Voices in the corridor outside reminded him that students were still moving about, looking for friends. From the sudden heat on his face he was sure that his embarrassment was apparent for all of them to see. He’d gotten a black eye from his  _ toad.  _ At least neither Hermione nor Ron were laughing at him. 

“Don’t you fret, me love” the trolley lady said, handing him a warm, pleasant-smelling cloth compress. “Just hold that on your eye. It will fix you right up. I always carry a few of these on the Hogwarts train, from Madam Pomfrey, up at the school. Just in case someone’s high spirits get out of hand.” She winked at Neville, then checked on Hermione. “Are you all right, m’dear?”

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you for asking,” Hermione said politely, although she shot a glare at Ron, first.

Neville sighed as the warm compress immediately soothed his eye, but then shifted nervously.  _ What about Trevor? _

The trolley lady smiled kindly at him, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Now, don’t you worry. Do you three want to see some real magic?”

“Oh,  _ yes,  _ please!” Hermione exclaimed. “I’ve been practicing, but it’s difficult without  _ seeing,  _ if you know what I mean.”

“You’ll enjoy this, then, m’dear. What’s the toad’s name, and who does it belong to?”

“Erm, Trevor, miss. He’s my toad.” Neville blushed when the trolley lady turned her attention to him. “My name is Neville.”

“Well, then. Let’s get him back to you.” She pulled her wand and waved it.  _ “Accio Trevor, Neville’s toad!” _

Nothing happened.

Hermione shifted, looking disappointed. She opened her mouth to say— 

A blurred shape whirled into the compartment, braked, and settled neatly onto Neville’s lap. Trevor the toad. All three children looked at him, astonished, then at the trolley lady.

“You’ll be wanting a harness for that toad, lad,” the trolley lady advised, waving away Neville’s and Hermione’s thanks for retrieving Trevor. She tapped her trolley sharply, and all the spilled candies rearranged themselves back where they belonged, and the trolley lady moved on to the next compartment. “Anything from the trolley?”

* * *

Neville relaxed as Trevor stayed quietly on his lap — although the toad seemed to give off a resentful air. At least he didn’t need to worry about the toad escaping again. He cautiously moved the compress away from his eye. “How does it look?”

“It looks fine,” Hermione said, sounding amazed. “Like you’d never been injured at all.”

“I reckon it’s the herbs in it,” Ron said, perking up a bit. “Mum makes compresses and the like for if we get sick or hurt and it’s not something we need to go to a healer for.”

“Like Neville was saying earlier,” Hermione said, still not paying attention to Ron, but not sounding angry either. “You know, about the properties of magical plants?”

“Yes,” Neville said eagerly, glad to take advantage of the seeming truce. “Some plants are good for healing. This might be a family recipe, I don’t recognize what’s in here.”

Hermione looked as though she was about to ask a question when Ron’s stomach gurgled. Instead, she pulled out a box. “I’ve brought extra for lunch, if you two would like to share.”

Mug— erm,  _ mundane  _ food? Neville leaned forward to see what would emerge from Hermione’s box. “What do you have? I’ve got a couple pasties.”

“A crusty loaf, cheese, celery, carrots, and apples,” Hermione said, spreading a cloth on the seat beside her and laying out each item.

“Erm… I have this…” Ron said, going scarlet as he pulled a partially eaten sandwich out of his pocket. He dug determinedly in his pocket again, and with a hopeful smile, he offered a bundle that had been wrapped in wax paper. “I also have these.”

“Fudge! Homemade?” Hermione eyed the bundle with wonder. “I’m not really allowed sweets. But...” 

Neville decided to take a chance the other two would agree, with a bit of a push. “Let’s divide everything up. We’ll have a bit of a picnic.”

Soon the three were happily chatting as they ate their shared meal. They were, Neville hoped cautiously as dusk settled over the landscape outside the windows, on their way to becoming friends.

* * *

“Psst, Neville! Wake up!” 

Neville sat up, blinking, aware that it was full dark outside, and he’d fallen asleep on the train. “Are we there?”

“Nearly!” Hermione chirped, her eyes glowing with excitement. “One of the upper years came by and said when we get there, we’re to exit the train and look for someone named Hagrid. Apparently, he’s unmistakeable,” Hermione frowned a little at that assessment, then gave her head a little shake. “And we’re to leave our trunks here. They’ll be  _ in our dorms waiting for us  _ after we’re sorted! Automatically!” She leaned back with a happy sigh. “How amazing is that!”

Neville noticed Ron opening his mouth and elbowed the other boy in the side. Ron closed his mouth again. Neville relaxed, happy that he’d managed to keep the peace between his two friends. 

Soon, the train pulled to a stop and the trio left the compartment. Neville lost the other two as he was swept into the crush of excited babble. He went with the flow of students until he found himself off the train. There were mage lights giving off gentle illumination, but all he could see were students streaming in different directions, calling to each other. 

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years, over here!”

Neville turned at the booming voice, his eyes widening at the person he spotted. The upperclassman had told Hermione the truth. Hagrid truly was unmistakable. 

“Neville! There you are!”

He turned to find Hermione at his elbow.

“I’m glad I found you!” She tugged his arm, careful not to pull his grip away from Trevor. “This way, there’s  _ boats!” _

Neville followed Hermione down the bank to the line of coracles. It looked like four to a boat. As soon as each one held the requisite number of bodies, the boat swept off down stream, and another took its place for loading.

When he and Hermione were settled in one of the boats, Ron showed up and elbowed into line to join them. “Oi, I’ve been looking for you two. Why do you still have your toad? I had to leave Scabbers in his cage.”

_ Oops.  _ He’d forgotten that he’d need to leave Trevor behind. It was just so nice that the toad was behaving for once, and riding tamely in his pocket. Neville just shrugged, waiting for the next person, another girl, to get in. “Hello, I’m Neville, and this is Hermione. That’s Ron.”

The girl dipped her chin in stiff greeting reminding Neville unpleasantly of his grandmother. “Pansy. Parkinson.”

_ Oh.  _ Neville recognized the name. One of the pureblood families. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Parkinson.”

“Hmm.” She looked out over the water, and Neville realised she was watching them approach the castle. 

“We’re almost there,” he said, awed. Once, he thought he’d never be able to attend, and now, here he was! _ Hogwarts. _

* * *

Once out of the boats, Hagrid escorted them to the castle doors. A stern witch introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, and led the awed children into the great hall.

Neville waited next to Hermione, who nervously muttered facts that she’d read from  _ Hogwarts, a History.  _ Behind them, Ron said something about wrestling a troll. Neville was hard-pressed not to snap at either of them from nerves. He nearly sagged in relief when a beat up old hat began to sing. A sorting hat. 

One by one, Professor McGonagall called each child to the front of the great hall to be sorted. Hermione squeezed his hand nervously when her name was called, and darted up to the stool and the waiting hat. Neville held his breath, waiting to see which house was lucky enough to get his friend. She looked like she was arguing with it, but finally the hat announced its decision.

_ “Gryffindor!”  _

Neville clapped as Hermione handed back the hat and eagerly joined the table of lions, but he was disappointed. He’d hoped that they would be in the same house. 

A few names later it was Neville’s turn. He gulped. Silence filled the hall as every eye watched him make his way to the front. He was terrified that he’d trip and fall. Professor McGonagall waved to the stool. Neville sat, facing all of those eyes. But there — Hermione! She waved to him and smiled. Neville managed a smile back as the hat descended over his head. He could do this.

_ “Well, well, what have we here?” _

Neville almost fell off the stool as he heard a voice inside his head. What was he supposed to say? “Erm, hello?”

A chuckle filled his mind.  _ “Don’t worry, young Longbottom. I’ve sorted every child who has ever attended Hogwarts. And yes, that means your parents, too. You, young man, will do well in Gryffindor.” _

Shock kept Neville from uttering a word. 

_ “Oh, I see…”  _ mused the voice.  _ “Hmmm…. No, I’m right. You wouldn’t be happy in Ravenclaw. Slytherin would never do. Hufflepuff might suit you, but you will do well in  _ Gryffindor!”

The professor pulled the hat off Neville’s head. “Go on now, join your housemates. We need to sort the next one.”

Still stunned, Neville managed somehow to get to the Gryffindor table, where he practically fell onto the bench next to Hermione. 

She hugged him. “This is so wonderful! I’m so glad I’ve got a friend here!”

He tentatively hugged her back, and then they watched the rest of the sorting. Several other boys and girls that Neville didn’t know made their way to the table to join them. He did notice that the blond boy from the platform, Draco Malfoy, went to Slytherin, along with Pansy Parkinson. Harry Potter, the dark haired boy, joined Gryffindor. Neville politely slid closer to Hermione to give the boy room.

Ron was one of the last few children to be sorted before the feast began, coming to Gryffindor, the house of the rest of the Weasley redheads.

Neville tried to pay attention to the feast, but he was distracted. He felt eyes on him once again. This time, though, it was only the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, not the entire student body. Dumbledore seemed to be keeping an eye on both him and Potter, who was chatting away with the other Gryffindor first years.

They had never met. Grandmother never let him go anywhere. But Neville knew that name. During the war, the Potters had been attacked by Deatheaters, somehow managing to kill Voldemort before they themselves had been killed. That had been shortly before his own parents had been— Neville cut off that thought sharply. Potter had been raised by relatives, he thought. Just like him. And now… Potter was in Gryffindor. Just like him.

For some reason, the headmaster appeared to be interested in them both. Dumbledore seemed to realize that Neville was watching  _ him.  _ Neville swallowed. Dumbledore’s eyes were surely much too far away to see clearly. How could they twinkle at him? Neville ducked his head and grabbed his fork. Maybe the headmaster would pay attention to someone else next.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first week at Hogwarts is a busy time for the students as they get to know each other. Harry muses about being in Gryffindor, Ron makes sure everyone knows his opinion, and Snape makes an observation.

Harry sighed as he got into bed and closed his curtains against the sight and sound of the other boys getting ready to turn in. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being in Hogwarts at last. Excited? Apprehensive? He snuggled under the covers. He did miss being home with Sirius. But… here, he could learn magic. And have a lot of fun, going by all the stories Sirius and Remus had told him. He had already owled home with news of his sorting.  _ Gryffindor.  _ He’d known it was a possibility, but he had still hoped to get sorted with Draco and their friends. At least he was in the same house Sirius and Remus had been in. And his parents. Besides, it wasn’t like he would never see his friends again. Maybe he’d make new friends. 

He wasn’t sure about Dean and Seamus. The two were thick as thieves already. Neville seemed all right, if a bit shy and quiet. Weasley, though. Harry scowled at the thought of the redhead. Weasley had had insulted Slytherin, Harry’s friends, and Harry, too. And while Weasley had seemed at first to be Neville’s friend, he had made a joke about squibs, and Neville had ignored the boy after that. Harry made a mental note not to joke about squibs in Neville’s hearing. Not difficult, really. He didn’t think that squibs were jokes in the first place.

_ What about the girls?  _ He compared the three Gryffindor girls to his friends. Lavender and Parvati were probably like Daphne and Tracey. They’d roll their eyes at boys’ antics, but if they were in the mood they’d play just as rough. He’d have to get to know them, to figure out what they were really like. Hermione, now. She seemed a bit nervous, if the way she’d been spouting facts had been any indication. And those facts! She knew an awful lot of trivia about Hogwarts. Since she was a Mug— he caught himself. She’d said  _ Mundane,  _ he remembered. So. As a Mundane, then, Hermione would only have found out about Hogwarts a few weeks before school started. That she’d managed to find out so much meant she was smart. She, too, was Neville’s friend, but a nicer one than Weasley. 

Harry yawned, decision made. He’d befriend Neville, and by extension, Hermione.

* * *

_ “Ron? Ron! Wake up. It’s time for breakfast.” _

Ron frowned and batted at the annoying buzzing in his ear before rolling over and pulling the covers over his head. He burrowed into the warmth. Must be a mosquito or something, he thought muzzily as he fell into a deeper sleep.

_ “Ron?” _

_ “Oh, leave him. We’ll be late.” _

* * *

Ron sat bolt upright in bed, his stomach growling. Must be time for breakfast. He opened his curtains with a smirk. From the sound of silence in the room he must be the first awake— 

Not only was the room silent, it was also…  _ empty. _

“Those prats,” Ron snarled, annoyed. Couldn’t be bothered to wake him, could they? He’d see about that. Perfect Percy the Prefect should have woken him up. Ron was  _ so  _ telling their Mum about that.

Ron pulled on his school robe from the day before and ran out of the room, completely forgetting Scabbers. Fortunately, there were a few other late risers, and he was able to follow them to the great hall. He was starving! 

He hurried to the Gryffindor table, barely acknowledging the other first years. Snubbing them, in fact. They’d be sorry they hadn’t woken him for breakfast. 

Ron was vaguely aware that there were rather more students than he remembered from the night before, but dismissed the thought. There was  _ food  _ in front of him. Accustomed to his brothers and sister all trying to get enough food to eat themselves, Ron started grabbing everything within reach to fill his plate. Someone tried to say something to him, but, as before, he gave them the snub. Food was more important, at least until that ravening hole in his belly was filled.

As he wound down, he realized that some of the other students were staring at him. He sat straight and glared at them. Then, forgetting that his mouth was still full, he tried to snap, “Wha?” 

Hermione was closest to him. She looked appalled. “What are you doing?” 

Ron chewed hastily and swallowed. “I was hungry.”

Neville leaned toward him. “We did try to wake you this morning—”

“Yeah, right.” Ron turned away, only to realize his mum would be furious and that he was facing  _ Slytherins  _ seated on the other side of Potter. “Why are there slimy snakes at our table?”

“They’re here to see me,” Potter said. He looked angry for some reason. “This is—”

_ “Malfoy.  _ I know,” Ron said. He heard his dad talking about the Malfoys all the time. 

The other Slytherin, Zabini, leaned toward Malfoy. “Let’s get going. We can talk to Harry later.”

Ron snorted. “Yeah, run away. We’re Gryffindors at this table!”

Potter glared at him and got up, walking with the two Slytherins, saying something that Ron couldn’t hear.

Neville chewed his lip, watching the departing trio anxiously. “That wasn’t very nice, Ron.” 

“They’re  _ Slytherins,  _ Nev.” Satisfied that the natural order of the universe had been restored, Ron reached for another rasher of bacon. Beside him, Neville mouthed  _ “Nev?”  _ silently. Obviously he was pleased that Ron wasn’t snubbing him anymore, and that they were firm friends. That would make his mum happy.

McGonagall showed up as he was chewing, handing out their schedules. Ron smirked when she had to call Potter over. Served him right. He shouldn’t have been talking with slimy snakes.

* * *

Severus unlocked the door to his classroom and faded into the shadows. He liked to observe the students as they entered. It was the end of their first week at Hogwarts; they should know each other well enough for Severus to identify which were more likely to be careless by their interactions. Potions could be highly dangerous, even the ones he taught to first years. Seventeen students, Slytherins and Gryffindors, flooded into the room to take their seats. 

Draco and Potter sat together near the front, sharing a table. Severus wasn’t surprised. The two had been friends since they could barely walk — a legacy of Lucius’ determination to overcome the stigma of being a known Death Eater. The rest of the Slytherins and Gryffindors were pairing up as he expected: keeping to their own houses. A disruption in the flow of bodies caught his attention. 

At one of the two tables at the front, Potter called out to Longbottom. “Neville, sit here with us.”

Longbottom glanced at Potter, brows raised, as if surprised. “Oh, but… erm….” He stuttered to a stop and looked at Granger who was ahead of him.

_ That’s interesting,  _ Severus thought, waiting to see how it would play out.

Granger, standing in the aisle between the two rows of tables, took a step forward, dismay filling her face. “Oh, but…”

“Don’t worry, Granger. Hermione, I mean,” Draco said with a practiced smile. He gestured towards Zabini, sitting behind him and Potter. “You can sit with Blaise.”

Zabini stood and offered his arm to Granger. “I would be pleased to partner with you during class, Miss Granger.”

Severus snorted to himself. Red flooded Granger’s cheeks as she stammered an attempt at a polite reply. A Muggleborn, of course, unused to pureblood courtesies. He deliberately didn’t think of his own childhood, raised in the Muggle world.

“Hey!” Weasley stood up from the last table, glaring indignantly at the small group. Silence filled the room as every student turned to look at Weasley. He ignored them as stomped towards the front of the room and pushed his way between Granger and Longbottom. “You two are  _ Gryffindor,  _ not Slytherin. You should be sitting with me!”

Severus held still, his entire focus on the drama unfolding between the students. 

Zabini moved closer to Granger, putting himself protectively in front of her. She clutched her bookbag to her chest and took a half step to the side, opening a little distance between them. Zabini’s face fell for just an instant before smoothing into polite indifference. Draco and Potter exchanged a glance and stood up, moving to flank Longbottom. “They can sit where they like, Weasley,” Potter said carefully, showing an unexpected amount of restraint.

Weasley sneered at Potter.  _ “You  _ can sit where you like. You’re nothing but a slimy snake yourself.”

Draco stared at Weasley, aghast. “You… _what?”_

Potter’s hands balled into fists and he stepped forward. “Say that again, Weasley, and you’ll find yourself challenged to a duel.”

“Knock it off, Ron,” Longbottom said, sounding oddly determined. “There’s nothing wrong with being in Slytherin.” 

“Yes, Ron, that’s enough,” Granger added, looking anxiously between the boys. “We should be seated before the professor arrives.”

“Yes, you should.” Severus had heard enough, and eased out from the shadows, giving his cloak a dramatic swirl as he allowed himself to be seen. Gasps from the students greeted his appearance. He stalked forward and snapped, “To your seats. Now.”

Longbottom paled so quickly Severus thought he would faint. Fortunately, Draco and Potter got him sitting on their bench before he fell over. Granger turned to Zabini. “Is your offer to be my partner in class still open, Mr Zabini?” 

“Yes, it is, Miss Granger.” Zabini once again offered his arm. Granger took it and allowed Zabini to seat her away from the aisle where Weasley still stood, fuming.

“Where am I going to sit then?” Weasley almost yelled. “There’s no one left to work with!”

“Hardly ‘no one,’ Weasley.” Parkinson’s voice came coolly from the back of the room, where she was the only student sitting alone at a table. “Sit here and do as I say, and you  _ might  _ just pass this class.”

Severus raised an unimpressed brow at the boy. “If I were you, Mr Weasley, I’d do as Miss Parkinson says.” 

Weasley sulked his way to Parkinson’s table and sat down with a huff. She whispered something to him, and he sat up straight, a look of apprehension on his face. 

Deciding that Parkinson had Weasley well in hand, Severus ignored them and launched into his opening speech. 


End file.
